by AJ Llewellyn
“Where is Massimo?” Caprice wondered aloud.
Marcello chided, “How many men does it require to quench your lovely thirst?”
“Two will do…for now.”
Philippe-Auguste released Marcello’s manhood with a laugh. “Fuck Caprice first, then I demand equal time.”
The woman the two men shared sat up and kissed the glistening penis that pointed right at her. She and Philippe-Auguste brought Marcello more pleasure, taking turns to suck him until he was ready to strike. Philippe-Auguste moved aside and watched in his possessive way as Marcello penetrated Caprice.
She moaned and the two men helped her remove all her clothing.
“Leave her pearls on…I love how they fall across her perfect breasts,” Marcello rasped and Philippe-Auguste complied. The two men took a nipple each and she felt carnal hunger flare within her once again. Could it be possible to feel this way again so soon?
She gripped Marcello to her with her strong thighs, Philippe-Auguste kissing them both. She felt her release swelling within her again, making her feel like she might stop breathing. Marcello seemed to know exactly what he was doing to her. He fucked her harder as Philippe-Auguste’s fingers toyed with Marcello’s ass.
“Don’t keep the lady waiting,” Philippe-Auguste purred. He moved to her throat, kissing and licking her. Caprice’s thighs shot into the air as Marcello exploded inside her.
“Beautiful,” Philippe-Auguste murmured. “Absolutely perfect.” He pushed Marcello’s body back from hers, his cock still throbbing, and Philippe-Auguste’s mouth closed around the purple-red head.
“Oh,” Marcello moaned. “Oh, Philippe-Auguste. I love you!”
* * * *
It was just before sunrise when Philippe-Auguste, wearing some of Marcello’s clothing, his distinctive hair hidden under a cloth cap, accompanied Caprice to Baldovino’s home across the square. They rang the bell and, for one brief moment, his hand strayed to Caprice’s ass. She jumped. All night, he and Marcello had pleasured her and each other. He tried not to think about Massimo. He had his hands full with his insatiable man and woman already. Massimo was a stallion in the sheets, but an untamable wild thing out of them. But still, Philippe-Auguste hated to lose control of a lover, especially one as hungry for cock as Massimo was.
Caprice’s throat still bled a little from where he had bitten her in his late-night feeding frenzy. She had covered it with a silk scarf and countless pearls, but he worried about her. He ran his tongue across the tiny fissures again and her pulse beat faster at his touch. He could smell rosemary and roses and realized they tumbled over the grape vines lining the cracked stone entrance to the magistrate’s property.
“Kiss me,” she hissed and he did, breaking away as the old wooden door in the archway opened and a maid in a thick woolen dress with a linen apron over it, peered out at them.
“Signore Capriccio?”
“Sí, and this is my assistant.” Philippe-Auguste stepped forward with the paint box that was Caprice’s most cherished possession, apart from her shoes.
The pair followed the maid past the open courtyard. The smell of horse manure was strong as they passed the stables and a large fountain and entered the main part of the house. Philippe-Auguste had seen many grand homes in his life and this was no exception. He glanced at Caprice who watched it all with an artist’s eye.
Baldovino was waiting for them in the library, pacing the room filled with antiquities as Caprice and Philippe-Auguste crossed the threshold into it.
A canvas waited on an easel and Philippe-Auguste glimpsed the instant happiness on Caprice’s face. He read her thoughts easily. Sail canvas. Oh, how wonderful.
She stood in front of it now and stared at it. I think a little more to the left.
Philippe-Auguste picked up the heavy wooden easel and moved it until she nodded her head slightly.
“Where do you want me?” the portly magistrate asked.
Not in my bed, Philippe-Auguste thought to himself. He caught Caprice’s stifled laughter. Good, she was starting to read him better now.
Ask him to sit in his chair. Tell him it makes him look more regal.
The magistrate seemed surprised when Philippe-Auguste asked him to do this.
“You won’t tire as quickly and people will be drawn to your face,” Philippe-Auguste lied. He picked up the first of the immaculate pieces of charcoal in the lined box and pretended to sketch his outline. Caprice sat beside him, her hands in her lap, studying the man in front of them. He wore an ornate tunic of leather, splashes of color emerging from his chest and arms. His gilded chains of office sat on his chest. She took in every detail, and after about fifteen minutes, Baldovino excused himself.
She leaped into action, quickly extracting a piece of charcoal from her dress pocket. She sketched out the magistrate in fine detail, giving his eyes and cheekbones equal prominence to the weight of his gold chains. She had shaded in the contours of his face when the magistrate returned, announcing his arrival with a loud belch. She jumped back into her seat, her charcoal back in her pocket.
“I ordered some breakfast. I trust you will have some with me?”
“We would enjoy that.” Philippe-Auguste’s hand was back on the canvas, his unblinking gaze indicating he wanted his subject back in his seat.
Baldovino acquiesced without a saying a word. “Where have I seen you before?” he suddenly asked Caprice. “You look so familiar to me.”
The servant who brought the morning meal saved her from answering. The spicy aroma of puffy fritters, made of milk and eggs, delighted Caprice and Philippe-Auguste.
“These are my favorite.” Baldovino pointed to a golden platter loaded with what looked like fat, stuffed ravioli. “They are caliscioni. They are prepared with almonds and rose water. These over here, are cinnamon cakes.”
Philippe-Auguste took a spoon and ladled a couple of caliscioni onto his plate. He put one to his mouth and was certain he had died and gone to heaven.
“Good, huh?” Baldovino asked.
“Delicious.” Philippe-Auguste savored the sweetness of the chubby pillows. Baldovino might have been an obnoxious swine, but he knew his food. Philippe-Auguste decided in that moment that Caprice must learn to cook. His new little family had become not only whores for one another, but for other people’s food.
The magistrate poured them coffee and chose the opportunity to steal a look at the work. It was a frightening moment, for Caprice had been forced to work fast. He didn’t seem upset though. In fact, he preened at the outline.
“Capriccio, you are as good as I have heard.” After proclaiming the first morning to be a great success, he bid Philippe-Auguste and Caprice farewell until the following day.
“We must make sure he never gets another look at the work again until I’ve started painting,” Caprice said as they hurried across the courtyard to reach home before sunlight burned too strongly. She carried her art box, Philippe-Auguste the covered canvas.
Across the courtyard from the opposite direction, a figure flittered past them. Philippe-Auguste stopped and stared. It was Massimo.
What was he doing here?
Chapter Eleven
Marcello squirmed in the chair. “It’s no use. I am stiff and I am bored. I demand relief.”
“I’ll give you relief.” Philippe-Auguste grabbed his partner, lifting him to his feet and put himself in the chair. He snatched Marcello back onto his lap, his hand snaking around the younger man’s cock.
Caprice laughed. “Should I paint this?”
Philippe-Auguste laughed. “I would pay you good money to portray Baldovino this way, pleasuring his husband.”
Marcello moaned as Philippe-Auguste’s mouth captured his, his hand gently stroking his shaft.
Caprice loved watching the scene of effortless seduction.
Marcello and Philippe-Auguste adored each other. Philippe-Auguste’s head dropped and Marcello’s shot back as his cock head slipped into his lover’s mouth.
“Fuck me right here,” Marcello moaned and Philippe-Auguste lifted him a little higher, plunging Marcello onto his raging erection. He licked Marcello’s nipples, his hand still gripping the huge shaft that bounced along with their movements.
Caprice had never known passion like this. The three of them had become so close and Massimo now so remote. She wasn’t sure what she wanted to do—watch, join in or apply more paint to her brush.
Her stomach rumbled. She was famished. Baldovino had sent them home with fruit and nuts. It was a delicious new fashion, fresh fruit. “I’m hungry,” she announced, laying down her brush. She sped along to the hallway to the kitchen and found Massimo in it, biting into a fresh apricot. His expression brightened at her appearance. Their glances met in an instant, feverish spike and he pulled her to him. She gasped at the force of his hand encircling her wrist.
“Do you want me, Caprice?”
“Yes, yes.”
He lifted her easily to the marble-topped butcher block and was pleased to see she was barelegged under her dress and smock.
“I see you are ready for me.” His fingers rubbed her slick, hardening nub. She felt him fumbling at his leggings as Marcello’s impassioned cries drifted toward them.
“He’s not the only member of this family getting what he deserves,” Massimo announced and entered Caprice without the blink of an eye.
She hung onto him with her arms and legs, her joy turning to panic as he took her without his usual grace. He was all brute strength.
“Stop it,” she gasped. “You’re hurting me.”
Within seconds, Philippe-Auguste was beside them, his body covered in a sheen of sweat, his eyes blazing in fury.
“What do you think you’re doing?” he demanded, trying to pull Massimo away from Caprice.
Massimo held her tighter as Caprice fought him off.
“You treat her with respect!” Philippe-Auguste thundered. “She is our wife.”
“She’s our whore!” Massimo sneered.
Philippe-Auguste pushed Massimo aside, but the younger man resisted. The two men lunged at one another, Caprice scrambling to get out of the way. Marcello was the one who hit his brother square on the chin, sending him reeling.
Caprice saw the three men circling and she grasped her chance. She ran to the center of the group and threw her arms around Massimo.
“I love you, Massimo.”
Tears came down his face. “I love you, too. All of you.” He straightened his clothes.
“Don’t go,” Philippe-Auguste said. “Please stay. We can talk.”
“I can’t.” Massimo shivered. He kissed Caprice gently, his tears staining her lips and cheeks.
“Stay. Please, stay,” she implored.
Something inside Massimo gave way and he picked her up and carried her to the bedroom. He removed all her clothing and, under the watchful gazes of the two other men in their lives, prepared her properly with his tongue before entering her. His mouth moved to hers and she tasted herself on his tongue.
Marcello and Philippe-Auguste surrounded them, their hard cocks waiting for their turn. Massimo and Caprice sneaked kisses and licks at both until she was too far gone to think of anything but the man making love to her. She came so hard she saw stars and sheets of color fire in her brain. Her legs held him to her as he quaked inside her.
“Oh, Caprice.” He fell on her, his heart racing in time with hers. She felt she had her lover back and laughed when Marcello brushed his brother aside to claim her, leaving Massimo to Philippe-Auguste’s eager embrace. She watched the way Philippe-Auguste sucked Massimo’s cock, licking her juices from his thighs and belly.
“I love the taste of the two of you together,” Philippe-Auguste said, reaching between her and Marcello to lick her pussy and his lover’s cock.
It was a long, languid evening, the four of them naked, feeding each other sweet meats from the magistrate’s kitchens, swapping kisses and gentle touches. It was a memory Caprice would always cherish. Massimo and Marcello being brothers never touched one another, except for playful slaps when one of them took too long with another lover.
From somewhere across the lagoon came the sound of the flute.
“I just realized something,” Caprice said.
“What’s that?” Philippe-Auguste asked as Massimo’s head moved to his cock.
“I just realized why Saint Sebastian was in that painting, The Flaying of Marsyus.”
Philippe-Auguste bit into a fresh fig, stroking Massimo’s head against his belly. “And what have you decided?”
“He was a martyr…as was Marsyus. Titian is comparing their suffering. We all suffer at the whims of the gods.”
“My clever, beautiful girl,” Philippe-Auguste said, drawing her face to his for an impassioned kiss. For one inexplicable moment, she felt a tremor of terror spiral through her. Philippe-Auguste’s hot kisses banished all fear and doubt.
“I want a kiss,” Marcello said and turned Philippe-Auguste’s face to his own.
Caprice awoke at dawn and slipped out of bed. She was surprised to see Massimo gone. She checked the whole house. He had left and she wondered where he’d gone. She sat naked before her painting and dipped her fingers in the colors she’d dreamed of.
An hour later, she finished her piece and waited only for the Maestro’s consent. Baldovino had driven her crazy with his insistence on seeing it. Well, he’d driven Capriccio crazy wanting to see the result.
“It is magnificent, my love,” Philippe-Auguste’s voice tickled her as he kissed her ear.
She wiped her fingers on the cloth in her hands. “Have I done him justice?”
“Justice?” He laughed. “You flatter him.”
She signed it in ebony with her finger, as was her custom, and sat back to gaze at her results. She’d completed her work in nine days. Now she had to await the Maestro’s decision.
“He will love it.” Philippe-Auguste squeezed her shoulder. “This evening, we will take it to him.”
Caprice nodded and allowed her lover to lure her back to the bedroom. Candlelight still flickered in some house windows and she watched Philippe-Auguste draw the dark curtains against the encroaching sunlight. She snuggled between Marcello and Philippe-Auguste and fell into a swift, heavy sleep.
Her dreams disturbed her. She dreamed of fire and heard screaming. She heard Geovanna calling her name and cried in her sleep. She awoke with a jolt. It was not a dream. Her two men were gone and she was alone in the bed. She reached with shaky fingers to pull back the drapery. It was late afternoon…the day almost done. She felt dizzy, disoriented and struggled out of the bed.
She listened and heard Marcello and Philippe-Auguste arguing. Throwing on a chemise, she slipped into the living room. “What is it?” she asked when her two men stopped talking the second she opened the door.
“I have never believed in deceiving you. It is best you hear the truth.” Philippe-Auguste moved across the room to her.
Over his shoulder, she glimpsed a fire raging in the distance. “What is that fire?” she asked.
“It is a new thing. They’re burning victims’ clothes. My love, there is no easy way of telling you this, but Titian has the plague. He has been removed from his studio.”
She grappled with this news.
“No,” she said. “It’s impossible. This can’t be.” Her thoughts flew in panic. “Titian? How cruel of God…where is he?”
“I don’t know. We just tried to take the painting to his studio. It is boarded up. We went to his home. The doctor was there, Titian’s wife is understandably hysterical.”
“Does anybody else in his family have the plague?” she asked.
He shook his head. “His entire family has been checked. His wife said he spent all his time at Las Sanseria. His symptoms came on quickly and deteriorated within the last few days. He wouldn’t even see her. He must have known he was
very sick and wanted to protect her.”
“We saw him…” She was dazed by the turn of events.
“My love, that was ten days ago. The symptoms come on quickly. In him, it appears the ravages tore through him, possibly due to his advanced age.”
She glanced at the easel. “My painting. It’s gone!”
“No, my love. We took it to Baldovino. He received it most gratefully.” He hesitated. “He was thankful to learn that the Maestro never touched the canvas or even saw it.”
“So everybody knows?” Neither man responded. Her heart felt heavy. Her beloved Geovanna and now, her cherished Maestro were gone. She closed her eyes. “What of Massimo?”
“No sign of him.”
“Is he gambling, do you think?”
“Oh, he’s gambling.” Philippe-Auguste’s face looked grave. “But not with money. I believe he’s with Thais. I hear there has been a rash of killings. I hope they are not behind it.”
She shivered and Marcello came and put his arms around her.
“We’re going to go out and look for him.” Philippe-Auguste said. “I think we all should be together.”
“Where will you look?”
He shrugged. “We’ll start at the usual places. The Ridotto, I think.” The two men kissed her and she watched them leave.
“We won’t be long,” Philippe-Auguste assured.
As she watched them running across the square, she felt more alone than she’d ever felt. She peered out across the horizon, past the lagoon, the acrid smell of smoke filling her nostrils. She returned to her room, poured water out of a jug into a basin and washed herself.
She slipped into fresh clothing, hesitating as she looked at her shoes. She loved her beautiful chopines and selected a pair of twelve-inch heels. They would not be going anywhere tonight. Oh yes, the ones with the satin laces. She sat on a low chair and laced them up her calves. The smell of smoke was suddenly stronger, or was it her imagination?
Caprice heard the fire then and moved out of the bedroom. Her mouth fell open at the fire sweeping across the living room. Furniture, carpets, draperies, everything fell with an audible groan as her house was swallowed up in flames. She ran to the windows, aware too late that she was wearing her shoes. Below her on the streets, people were running. Baldovino’s house was on fire and the entire line of houses had gone up in flames. She had nowhere to run—fire and smoke threatening to consume her.